


A tale of two idiots

by chiara_scuro



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, First Kiss, Getting Together, Indirect Confessions, M/M, Party, can you tell i love writing works where simon and baz are khm fucking oblivious, is it?, just two boys being idiots tbh, shepard sings ymca and that's all that really matters, the title is weird but so am i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiara_scuro/pseuds/chiara_scuro
Summary: With university exams finally over, the party at the White Chapel provides with some great opportunities to judge people, eat samosas and be oblivious.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 20
Kudos: 149
Collections: Carry On Fall Exchange 2020





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work is a part of the Carry on exchange, written for [nick-eyre](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/nick-eyre)  
> If you don't know them, I'd highly recommend checking out their art, it's so good! Nick, if you're reading this, hi, I love your art! 
> 
> Also big thanks to [sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and [aristocratic-otter](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/aristocratic-otter) for beta reading this!

SIMON

I throw myself on the bed, absolutely exhausted from the day behind me. Christ, all those school counsellors and care home counsellors told me university would be a lot harder than sixth form, but I never imagined it would be  _ this  _ hard. My last exam was today and I’m spent. My brain feels like mashed potatoes.

My stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I could go for some mashed potatoes right now. All this exam stress has made me lose my appetite a bit (which never happens!) and now it seems like my body is catching up.

I lay in bed for a moment, pondering whether it’s worth it to get up for some food, but the rumbling in my stomach becomes too much to ignore, so I slowly get up and make my way to the kitchen.

Penny is there, stirring her tea. She’s got her legs outstretched on my chair and there’s a box of biscuits opened beside her. I reach over and take one, popping it in my mouth. She pretends to smack my hand away, but I’ve known Penny since I was eleven and I know she’d never get cross with me for taking her food.

“Are you done with your exams?” Penny asks.

“Mhm,” I mumble, my mouth still full of biscuit. “Fucking finally. I thought this would never end.”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Sure, if you consider functioning on four hours of sleep fun, then yeah, I had a blast,” I say, rummaging through the kitchen cupboards for some instant ramen. I’m too knackered to cook – I think I’m just going to have the most low-effort meal in the universe and then go sleep for twelve hours.

“Did you hear about the party?” she asks, completely ignoring my sarcasm.

“No, but if it’s today, don’t even tell me. I have a hot date with my pillow and I’m not rescheduling it.”  _ Nothing _ can come in between me and a full night’s sleep tonight. I’m determined.

Penny wrinkles her nose. “Do you realize what that sounds like?”

“It sounds like a very tired bloke who’s finally about to get his recommended daily amount of sleep,” I shrug her off.

“You spend too much time around Baz. You’re starting to sound like him,” she remarks, stirring her tea. I turn around to look at her.

“I do not spend time with Baz!” I defend myself. So, yeah, I might get a bit snippy when I’m tired, but I’m nowhere near the sarcasm levels of Baz Pitch. Pardon, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. The posh git. The worst kind of well-mannered. The boy who pushed me into a full-blown sexuality crisis earlier this semester with his perfect hair and his expensive style and his cold demeanour.

“I mean, I don’t sound like him,” I start to fumble, my cheeks burning. The kettle clicks, signalling that the water for my ramen is ready. I pour it over the noodles, watching them come apart in the water.

“If you take a nap now, you can be well rested for the party,” Penny nudges me with her foot.

“Sounds tempting but I don’t want to fuck up my sleep schedule,” I say before shoving a spoonful of ramen into my mouth.

“Please, like you have a sleep schedule,” she says, which makes me laugh.

“I’m trying, Pen!”

“Come on. Shepard will be there. And if it’s boring we can all go home and order a pizza and watch  _ Friends _ together,” she offers. I smile at her even though my mouth is full of ramen.

“You had me at pizza.”

BAZ

When I come home from uni, Dev and Niall are snogging on the sofa. Dev and Niall are always snogging on the sofa. I need new flatmates. (They have a perfectly functional room – why they don’t use it is beyond me.)

I clear my throat, reminding them that I’m here, even though they must’ve heard me unlock the door.

“Oh, hey Baz,” Niall looks up, his blond hair tousled. “How did your exam go?”

“Brilliant,” I say, grabbing an apple and plopping myself down next to them on the sofa. I make a point to ignore the bruises growing on my cousin’s neck. (It’s still weird to think about it – my cousin and my best mate, snogging like a pair of horny teenagers.) (I  _ am _ happy for them but I just really wish they’d get themselves familiarized with the concept of bedrooms.)

“Yeah? Top of the year brilliant?” Dev asks, his eyes sparkling. He’s teasing me but I decide to ignore it.

“That’s the goal, yes.”

“Nerd,” my cousin scoffs. Niall shoves at him and then Dev shoves back and I think this is my cue to excuse myself, because they’re going to start snogging again any second now.

“Well, you know, someone in our family has to carry on our academic streak,” I remark, standing up from the sofa. A pillow hits me in the back, surely Dev’s doing. I pay no attention to it, just grab my bag and head for my room.

“Oh, Baz,” Niall calls after me. I turn around at the doorway. “There’s a party at the White Chapel tonight. You want to come?”

“I’ll consider it,” I say. I’ve never been one for parties, but I guess I can go. I’ve been working hard this semester and maybe this will help me unwind. If nothing else, Snow might be there.

“Cool,” Niall says.

I don’t turn around quickly enough and consequently catch a glimpse of Dev attacking Niall’s lips again. I sigh and leave the room.

I desperately need new flatmates.

SIMON

As it turns out, a five hour nap is exactly what I needed to help me feel alive again. That, and the warm London air, filled with the promise of summer.

I used to hate summers. Two whole months, stuck in a care home, without the distraction of school to get me through. I usually wasn’t even allowed to see Penny. It got a bit better when I was old enough to work, but I still dreaded it, every time the air got warmer.

This year, it’s going to be different. It’s my first summer out of care and Penny and I are planning on doing all the normal summer things that I missed out on throughout the years; redecorate our flat, visit festivals, go on a road trip to the sea. Maybe Shepard is going to join us on that last one, if he’s not too busy packing. He’s going back to Omaha for the summer, but he’s staying in England until we get our exam results.

We’re on our way to pick up Shepard right now and then we’ll walk to the White Chapel together. It’s a club just off campus where all university parties are held. It’s actually built inside of an abandoned chapel, although the only thing worshipped in there these days is tequila.

I bounce excitedly as we wait for Shepard to come down from the dormitories. Penny and I live off campus, but Shepard is a foreign student, so dorms are a better option for him. He shows up, wearing that denim jacket of his again, even though the weather’s too warm for it.

“What’s up, man?” he asks, clapping our hands together. Shepard is all about high-fives, fist-bumps and those weird hand-clap-into-bro-hug thingies. Being friends with only Penny for most of my life, Shepard’s mannerisms made me feel weird at first, but now I’ve grown to like them.

Penny wrinkles her nose at his Americanism. (She’ll definitely never grow to like Shepard’s slang.) (Personally, I think it’s funny – one time, Shepard said he liked my pants and I just looked at him, mortified, until I realized he meant jeans and not my underwear. Now it’s sort of an inside joke between us.)

Shepard notices Penny frowning and turns to her, putting on his most solemn face. “Alright, darling?” he says with the fakest, most horrible British accent.

“Oh, fuck off!” Penny shoves him away but she’s also laughing. Shepard’s laughing too and he reaches out to grab her hand.

“Okay, sorry! This is the last time I’m pretending to be British tonight,” he promises, but I’ve seen Shepard after a few drinks. It’s either cryptid stories or a fake British accent. Sometimes both (although I’m fairly certain he only does the accent to annoy Penny).

“I’m sorry mate, but you can’t pass as British, no matter how hard you try,” I say.

“Oi, mate, that wasn’t very nice of you!” Shepard starts in a British accent again but switches to American mid-sentence.

“Stop it! We don’t actually say ‘oi’ that much!” Penny objects.

“Oi!” I laugh.

“Oi!” Shepard echoes, delighted.

“You two are impossible,” Penny shakes her head, a smile tugging on her lips.

We make our way to the White Chapel, repeating stupid words and laughing.

BAZ

I don’t know why I agreed to go to this party – I hate parties; I hate drinking, I hate the music, I hate the feeling of unfamiliar bodies pushing against me. However, nothing is as depressing as a 1 st year university student staying cooped up in his room on the last day of term. I guess this is what you call societal pressure.

I decide that, if I’m going to this party, I might as well be the best-dressed there, which actually isn’t hard, considering the outfits some of my classmates consider fashionable. (Seriously, does Simon Snow even  _ own _ a shirt his size? I bet he spends five minutes just tucking it all back into his jeans after going to the loo. It’s ridiculous. It’s adorable.) (Actually, I sort of love Snow’s absurdly oversized T-shirts, but that’s just because I have a big fat crush on him. Objectively, they are terrible.) (Not as terrible as Gareth’s belt buckle, though. I never thought a belt buckle would cause me physical anger, but here we are.)

I stand in front of my wardrobe, looking at a selection of (reasonably sized) shirts stretched in front of me. I settle for a white one with a brown koi print, paired with some checked trousers. I leave the first three buttons undone and slick my hair back for good measure.

“Baz! Are you ready yet?” Niall’s voice calls from outside of my door. I take one last look in the mirror before opening the door. 

“Gentlemen. Let’s go.” 

I suppose that if the party is horrible, I can always come back to my flat.

The party  _ is _ horrible, but not horrible enough to make me want to leave just yet. The music is atrocious. The amount of PDA currently happening on the dance floor should be illegal. The alcohol is shit. You can taste the low budget in my gin-tonic drink. Awful.

Still, I’m entertaining myself with observing all the terrible dance moves. I’ve come to the conclusion that straight people shouldn’t be allowed to dance.

And I don’t really want to go back to my flat. I want to see if he’s here first. One last night of letting myself stare at Simon Snow before summer starts and I have to move on to my next objective: getting over him.

I  _ have _ to get over him. I’ve been pining over Snow practically since the first day of university, but he’s painfully uninterested. It’s best for me to just move on from this whole mess (even though I have no idea how I’m actually going to do that).

Not just yet, though. If he’s here tonight, I’m going to let myself indulge in him one last time.

And if he’s not, well, the dance moves are still pretty entertaining. I swear I’m almost having fun as YMCA comes on and everyone does the ridiculous dance while singing the chorus.

There’s one person who knows all the words and he’s singing them at the top of his lungs. Shepard, the foreign student from America. I scoff when I see him – but suddenly, it’s not so funny when I see who’s next to him.

Bronze curls. Tawny skin scattered with moles and freckles. A shirt that’s definitely too big.

Simon Snow is here. He’s here and his smile is brighter than the sun.

SIMON

I don’t notice Baz at first – I’m too busy dancing. But when Penny decides to put an end to Shepard’s rendition of YMCA by blocking his mouth with hers, I start looking around awkwardly and that’s when I see him. He’s up on the stairs above the dance floor, leaning against the wall, his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, holding a drink nonchalantly and staring at me.

A shiver runs down my spine and I shake my head. When I look back at him, he’s already looking away. I must’ve been making it up then. I doubt Baz Pitch would actually be staring at me.

Fucking hell, he looks so cool, though. There’s something so casual and relaxed about him, the way he holds himself, and yet, he looks like a fucking supermodel.

I glance over to my right. Penny and Shepard are still snogging, so I decide they won’t really miss me. I don’t know why I’m feeling so brave tonight, but it’s the last day of the semester – if I muck it up now, I’ll have the whole summer to forget about it, and I don’t think I’ll be taking any literature classes next semester so Baz and I won’t even be classmates anymore.

It doesn’t hurt to give it a try, does it? Attempt to have at least one conversation where he doesn’t call me an idiot?

I make my way over to Baz.

BAZ

Fuck, Snow just caught me staring at him. I look away, pretending to be very interested in the couple snogging to my left, thankful that the shitty club lighting hides my blush.

Maybe I should look back? Come to think of it, a stare-off with Simon Snow feels like a good way to wrap this up. One last indulgence.

I look back to where he was standing, but he’s no longer there. Obviously, the universe hates me. Just when gather the courage to look my crush in the eye, he disappears. Typical.

“You alright there?” A voice startles me. Snow’s voice. He has somehow made his way over here without me noticing. I take back what I said about the universe hating me earlier.

I quickly regain my composure. “Are you lost, Snow? Last time I checked your friends were over there,” I nod my head in the general direction of where Snow was standing just moments ago.

“They hardly need me,” Snow shrugs. “You, on the other hand, looked a bit lonely.”

“Are you drunk?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. It comes out sharper than I intended but maybe that’s good. I don’t want him to think I’m being nice to him – and I definitely can’t think of a reason a sober Simon would voluntarily want to interact with me. I did spend the entire year sneering at him.

“No, actually. You?”

What is this? Is Snow trying to strike up an actual conversation with me? Have I slipped into an alternate universe? How do I respond to this? Do I tell him to fuck off, or do I play nice?

“I don’t drink cheap alcohols,” I settle for the middle ground. Snow scoffs.

“Of course you don’t.”

“May I ask what the point of this conversation is?”

“Are you here with anyone?” Snow asks. It throws me off my game. It’s a bit bold, even for him – or maybe I’m just hearing what I want to hear. Either way, I can’t compose a witty answer fast enough, so I just nod my head at Dev and Niall, who are currently on the dance floor, performing what could be considered a DIY laryngoscopy with their tongues.

“Oh,” Snow chuckles. “Third wheel as well.”

“I actually prefer to think of them as my humble training wheels,” I cut off. It makes Snow laugh as well.

“Didn’t realise you needed those.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. We stand in silence for a while and I decide to take another sip of my gin, just so that I have something to do with my hands. It’s still as awful as it was before.

“Don’t you want to dance?” Snow asks suddenly. My gin almost catches in my throat. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re just standing there. Don’t you want to have some fun?”

“I am having fun, Snow. I’m looking at all the terrible dance moves.”

“That  _ does _ sound fun,” Snow admits and starts scanning the dance floor. “Like that guy over there?” He points to Gareth, who is doing some weird, uncoordinated thrusts with his hips.

“Exactly like that guy over there,” I confirm. “Although I wouldn’t laugh too much if I were you – you’re not much better yourself,” I add, even though I hadn’t even noticed Snow until his friend gave his whole little performance. Was he even dancing?

“Hey, I was hardly dancing!” Snow objects, as if he’s read my mind. “Besides, I can’t think of a single reason why you’d just stand there, sulking and judging other people if you couldn’t dance yourself.”

“I can dance, Snow. I just choose not to.”

“Why not?” he juts his chin out at me.

“The music is awful.”

“YMCA isn’t awful. It’s a classic.”

“I don’t need someone telling me that there’s no need to feel down, Snow. My aunt already says it enough.”

That makes him laugh – really laugh. It might be the best thing I’ve ever heard. Definitely better than YMCA.

“I think she has a solid reason for that,” Snow finally says. “You do always look like a stranger’s just spilled coffee all over you or something.”

“Yes, and that stranger is usually you,” I remark. It’s true – Snow spilled coffee all over me in the first week of university. It’s how we got off on such a bad start. I’m fairly certain Snow and I would at least be able to tolerate each other if he’d had more coordination and if I hadn’t given him the first impression that I’m an arse. (I suppose I could’ve been nicer to him. But he could also learn to look where he’s going, especially when holding hot liquids.)

“It happened  _ one _ time! And I said I was sorry!”

“Apology not accepted. I loved that shirt,” I say, even though I couldn’t care less about my ruined shirt or the coffee spilling event. Snow huffs beside me and leans against the wall, running his hand through his curls as he does so. I try not to look at him, but I still do.

“You could always buy a new one,” he shrugs.

“I had emotional attachments to it,” I lie. He sighs and looks at me.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“I don’t know. Why are you talking to me?”

“I told you already, you looked lonely. But if you’re gonna be an arse then never mind,” he huffs.

This is the part where I say something cold and cruel and he huffs again and stomps away. Snow and I have gone through this scenario a billion times. I could think of a hundred witty responses that would make him leave. I don’t want to.

I don’t want him to leave. Jesus Christ, I really am that desperate.

“Maybe if you talk about something else, I won’t be an arse,” I say. It’s about the nicest I’m willing to get. He could still interpret it wrongly and walk away, but I don’t think he’s going to. He’s the one who started this conversation, after all. He came to me.

“Alright, fine. Why aren’t you dancing?”

“I already told you, I don’t dance,” I roll my eyes.

“No one’s going to be watching you,” Snow says.

“I don’t care if people watch me, Snow; I just refuse to dance to Ariana Grande.”

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

“Never said I was,” I retort. “You can go dance. No one’s stopping you.”

“Well I’m not going to do it, now that I know you’re judging my every move!”

“Suit yourself,” I shrug. We stand in silence for a while before Snow nudges me and points at someone in the crowd.

“That guy really is terrible, though, isn’t he?” The man in question is dancing like he’s got his underwear full of fire-ants.

“Oh, he’s awful,” I agree.

“I have to go take a leak.”

“You don’t need my permission, Snow.”

“I’m just saying. Don’t go anywhere.”

I consider bolting the moment he’s gone, but I know I could never do it. The whole reason I decided to stay at this party for so long was because I was hoping to see him. Of course, I’m too weak to leave, especially now that he’s asked me to stay.

I lean against the wall, waiting for him to come back.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samosas (for real this time), how to make priests turn in their graves and the most pissed on bench in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> messing with the hyperlinks is painful and I have a headache, same notes apply as for the first chapter!

SIMON

Baz is still here when I come back, much to my surprise. I gave him a chance to get away, because I wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to me. But he’s still here. I can’t help but smile at that.

I glance over to the dance floor; Shepard and Penny are still in their own world. They won’t miss me. I tap Baz on the shoulder, because he’s looking away and I don’t want to startle him. He turns around abruptly.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask. Well, more like half yell at him – this club is way too loud for a normal conversation, which is partly why I want to leave.

Baz raises his eyebrow at me. “What happened to the whole wanting to dance thing?” he asks.

“Got bored,” I shrug. That’s not technically true, but I don’t want to go back on the dance floor now that I know he’s watching me.

“I swear to god, it’s easier to keep my little brother entertained. And he’s three,” Baz scoffs.

“Do you want to leave or not?” I ask again, ignoring his comment. Baz stares ahead of himself for a moment, like he’s thinking.

“Okay, why not. I’ve had about enough of the belt buckle bloke for the night,” he says, before pushing himself off the wall and bee-lining for the exit. It’s hard to keep up with him – he walks fast enough as it is, and I swear his legs are longer than Mondays. I practically have to run after him. He doesn’t even hold the club door for me.

“So, Snow, where to?” he asks, once we’re outside.

Huh. I hadn’t planned that far ahead.

“I suppose we could get some food?” I suggest. One can never go wrong with food – and I swear to god, chippy food somehow tastes better in the middle of the night. “There’s a curry place around the corner. I reckon it’s still open.”

Baz looks amused as we start walking down the street. “You left the club to get some curry?” he asks.

“Listen, I haven’t had a proper meal in a week,” I defend myself.

“Oh no. What could’ve possibly gotten Simon Snow in sufficient distress to turn down his beloved food?” Baz asks, his face looking smug. I nudge him.

“Exams.”

“Exams are hardly stressful.”

I just stare at him. “Excuse me? That was the most stressed I’ve been  _ in my life _ !”

“Maybe if you turned in your essays on time you wouldn’t have that problem,” Baz retorts.

“Hey, that was because my laptop- wait, how do you know about that?” I ask suspiciously. I never told Baz that my laptop died. I hardly ever tell him anything. We don’t even sit next to each other in our lectures and having a proper conversation with him is... difficult. 

“Sometimes your complaining can be heard across the lecture hall, Snow. I suppose this is the place you’ve been talking about?” he asks, pointing at the neon lights of the curry place. 

“That’s the one.”

I order two servings of samosas. Baz doesn’t order anything.

“Are you not hungry?” I ask once we’re outside. My two orders of samosas are stacked on top of each other and I open the first box and dig in.

“Not really.”

“Then why did you agree to go?”

“Scientific purposes. I’m trying to figure out how one person can possibly fit so much food in their mouth.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I say through a mouthful of samosas.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Snow. Who taught you manners?”

I shrug, grabbing another samosa, trying my best to keep the boxes balanced while also eating and walking. Baz is watching me with his eyebrows raised.

“Snow, as much as I love to see you struggle, don’t you maybe want to find a bench to eat this on?” he suggests.

“Yeah, try finding a bench in London in the middle of the night that isn’t pissed on,” I say. He barks out a laugh. 

“I’ll give you that. Come on,” he waves at me to follow him. I do. He’s taking me back on campus – the gravel crunches underneath our feet and I have to seriously pick up my pace to keep up with him. For someone who doesn’t want me to drop my samosas, he sure isn’t making this any easier for me. He stops in front of a bench.

“The bench commemorating the university’s founder. I reckon nobody’s going to piss on that,” he announces.

“I reckon that’s literally the most pissed on bench in the entirety of London,” I object. We’re both staring at the bench like it’s about to start talking.

“Why would anyone want to piss on the founder’s bench?” Baz sounds puzzled.

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ you piss on the founder’s bench? Hell, I’d piss on it. Payback for those exams,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. (I wouldn’t actually. Baz may think I have no manners, but even I draw the line at such behaviour.) (Still, those exams were pretty bloody hard. I’m not saying people  _ should _ piss on this bench, I’m just saying I wouldn’t be mad if they did.)

“Please don’t do that,” he says, his voice sounding amused and pained at the same time.

“I won’t,” I assure him. “Still, let’s find a different bench.”

We end up coming back to the White Chapel and circling around it to where the catacombs are. There’s a stone bench pushed against the wall of the entrance and we sit there. I immediately dig into my samosas – it’s much easier to eat them now that I’m sitting down.

“Look at you, eating right in front of the catacombs. I’m sure the priests are turning in their graves,” Baz comments.

“There’s literally a party in their church right now. I’m sure they’d be turning in the graves even if I wasn’t eating,” I retort. Baz starts laughing. “What?” I look at him. What I said wasn’t even that funny, but he’s fully shaking from laughter.

“Nothing, nothing. I just remembered my flatmates are probably currently grinding against each other in the house of the lord,” he says, another laugh escaping his chest as he does so.

“So are mine. So are loads of people,” I shrug. I don’t see the humour in this. It’s a party – of course people are going to snog.

“They’re gay, Snow.”

Oh. I chuckle at that. I suppose that is funnier. What a better way to piss off Jesus than to snog a bloke in a church? Hell, I wish I could snog a bloke in a church – preferably Baz.

No wait. That sounds too much like I want to marry him.

I scrunch my nose, trying to shake those thoughts out of my head, but then I realize that looks too much like I’m frowning at the fact that Baz’s friends are gay. Which I’m not! I mean. I’m… not straight. (Honestly, I still haven’t figured out the whole label thing, but Penny says I don’t have to.)

Then I realize I know who Baz is talking about. I don’t know their names, but I’ve seen them around at the library. I didn’t realize they were Baz’s flatmates.

“Those two are your flatmates?” I ask.

“Yes, lord help me, they are,” Baz sighs. “The two of them never outgrew their honeymoon stage. It’s sickening.”

Huh. Is  _ Baz _ frowning at the fact his friends are gay? Isn’t  _ he _ gay? (I wouldn’t know, actually. I’ve been operating on the assumption that Baz is gay because Shepard said there’s no way a man with hair that glorious could be straight.) (I guess he could be wrong.) (Penny said he was stereotyping, but he just pointed to his own hair and said “bisexual” and that settled it.) 

“I think it’s kind of cute,” I say, just so he doesn’t think I’m homophobic.

“Yes, it’s kind of cute, Snow, but my living with them is essentially just accidentally walking into gay scenes instead of living in one yourself. I’ve seen things no man should see his cousin doing,” he laments. I laugh, partially because the thought of him walking in on his friends is hilarious, partially because did he really just make a gay joke? (I knew Shepard was right!)

“Oh, that’s bad,” I say, still laughing. “Still, not their fault you’re single.” I don’t know why I said that. I feel a blush spreading to my ears and I shove another samosa in my mouth to stop it. (Not that it helps, but still.)

“ _ Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa _ ,” Baz says, his voice flat. “Except it’s not,” he adds a few seconds later. I turn to him.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, faster than he probably should. His voice doesn’t have the composure it usually has. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds panicked.

“Come on,” I press him.

“Eat your samosas.”

“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours,” I offer. The thought of talking about Baz  _ to _ Baz sounds vaguely terrifying and I’m not sure he wouldn’t piece two and two together (he’s hellishly smart, after all), but the curiosity about his love life is stronger than the fear that he might figure me out.

“We’re not twelve-year-old girls on a sleepover, Snow. I’m not going to  _ gossip _ to you about who I fancy,” he rolls his eyes.

“So, you like someone?” I prompt him. It makes my heart sink a bit – I’d prefer it if he didn’t fancy anyone. Or if he fancied me… but I know that’s not possible. Baz doesn’t like me – at all. He’s made it pretty clear during the course of this semester. Still, now I’m curious.

“I’d like it if we dropped this conversation,” Baz grumbles. “Why is it, the one time you have the opportunity to stuff your mouth, you don’t?”

I show him my empty take-out containers as an answer, and he raises his eyebrows at them.

“How on Earth do you eat so fast?” he asks. I shrug, making myself busy by folding the boxes together. Baz stands up abruptly. “Come on,” he says.

“What?”

“Let’s get you more samosas so you won’t ask stupid questions.”

“I’m not hungry anymore!” I object, hastily getting to my feet and following him. I throw the takeout boxes in the nearest bin. He doesn’t listen to me, just keeps walking. To my surprise, he takes the opposite direction of the curry place where we got the samosas.

“That’s not where it is,” I remind him.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t hungry?”

“Where are we going?” I ask, finally catching up with him.

“A walk.”

We’re walking the streets of London in silence and my mind is still stuck on our earlier conversation. More specifically, on the idea of me telling him who I fancy. Now that the idea is in my head, I can’t shake it off.

I wouldn’t tell him it’s him, obviously. I would just tell him  _ about _ him. The things I want to say to him.

If he figures it out, so be it. I’ll have the whole summer to live down the embarrassment – and I’m not even sure I’ll be taking any classes in literature next year, so there’s a good chance I won’t see him around as much, if at all.

So, what do I really have to lose?

BAZ

The streets are empty and quiet, and the air is pleasantly warm against my skin. The sky is too bright – you can never see any stars in London.

I don’t know where we’re going, to be honest, but it seems to be keeping Snow quiet, which is all I wanted to achieve. I swear, a few more questions from him and I would’ve broken down and confessed my feelings. Or told him to fuck off, which I could never live down.

Actually, I’d never live it down in both cases.

But this – this is fine. The silence isn’t  _ ideal _ but it’s considerably better than Snow asking me overly invasive questions about my personal life. 

“Well, the person I like is an actual arse,” Snow says suddenly. I sigh and roll my eyes. Of course, he’s still pressing this conversation. I don’t  _ need _ to know about his love life. I don’t want to know which girl he fancies – it’s probably Agatha Wellbelove; I’m yet to meet a straight bloke from my class who  _ doesn’t _ find her attractive.

“An arse and a posh git,” Snow continues, completely ignoring my obvious displeasure about this conversation topic.

_ Does _ this description match Wellbelove, though? Yes, she’s posh, but she’s not an arse. I suppose she is a bit stuck up, but you could attribute that to the poshness. An arse definitely sounds too harsh. 

“He’s bloody clever, though.” Snow mutters.

Oh.  _ He. _

I almost want to laugh. Simon bloody Snow isn’t straight. The universe loves me – or hates me, given that he fancies someone else. That’s as good as being straight. That’s actually even worse. 

I raise my eyebrows at him just the slightest bit. I refuse to verbally participate in this conversation, but I can get away with facial expressions. I see a blush spreading across Snow’s cheeks.

“He’s probably going to ace all his exams. And as far as I know, they were pretty difficult.”

I want to point out how exams are really not that difficult if you prepare for them sufficiently, but I don’t. Maybe Snow will go off on a tangent about how hard the exams were and stop talking about his crush.

(I don’t know who the boy is, but I already hate him. I’ve only had a fraction of a second to be excited about the fact that Snow isn’t straight before I realized it hardly matters – somebody else has already taken his heart.) (Curse him. Some of us never even had a chance.) (Or I suppose I had a few chances, but I spent them all sneering at him, because I’m a coward. And because I thought he was straight. But mostly because I’m a coward.)

“And he’s funny. Sometimes,” Snow continues.

“Sometimes?” I prompt him, and then immediately curse myself. So much for not getting involved with the conversation. 

“Well, he and I don’t actually talk that much. But he’s got an interesting sense of humour. He’s very uh… sarcastic, I guess? And sometimes it’s really hilarious,” Snow says, blushing a little.

As much as I hate this mystery boy for stealing Simon’s heart, I have to admit – looking at him talking about his crush is actually adorable. I just wish he was talking about me like that.

“I mean, I don’t think he’s funny on purpose. I think he just always speaks his mind, and the truth is what’s funny about his words. And the deadpan delivery. And he’s very well spoken. Sometimes I hear him talk in class and I think I should bring a thesaurus just to understand everything he’s saying.”

“Snow, you have to admit, you’re not the best when it comes to words. That bloke of yours could have a completely average vocabulary and you’d still need a thesaurus,” I say. He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, his vocabulary is definitely above average. It doesn’t surprise me, though. He’s always got his nose in a book. Sometimes so much so that he doesn’t pay attention to where he’s walking.”

“Well, you two have that in common,” I remark, thinking about the coffee incident and also a billion other times Snow has walked into me or into somebody else. He’s not very aware of his physical surroundings. Trust him to fall for somebody who isn’t either.

Snow chuckles a bit at that. “I suppose we do. But he’s so cool about it. He walks into things like he meant to walk into them. Except when he walks into me – he’s always an arse about that.”

“Maybe it’s actually you who’s walking into him,” I suggest, finding myself suddenly siding with the mystery boy. (Even though I can’t say I’m exactly fond of him. How dare he be an arse to Snow? Although I guess I shouldn’t be the one to speak on this matter.)

“No, he definitely walks into me. Seriously, he never looks up from his books. It’s a shame, though. He has nice eyes. I kind of like it when he walks into me because then I can see them up close.” His voice is softer now. This is suddenly too much.

“Snow, why are you telling me this?” I snap, turning to look at him. He seems taken aback.

“Because… um, well… I’d want him to know all that,” he fumbles.

“Well then fucking tell him. Don’t use me as a rehearsal to confess feelings to your crush. For fuck’s sake, Snow, I’m not your gay guru or something. Fucking talk to him.”

“I did talk to him,” he says, his voice suddenly colder. “He didn’t want to hear it.”

“Well then find some other ways to cope with your rejection. Get drunk, snog a stranger, eat five kilograms worth of samosas, I really don’t care. Just don’t use me as your fucking therapist.” I’m being too harsh with him, I know that, but I really don’t want to hear another word about this mystery boy. And I’d very much like to kick him for rejecting Simon.

I mean, why on earth would  _ anybody _ reject Simon? If this was me he was talking about, I’d take him in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even let him finish the sentence.

Snow is staring at me. His eyebrows are furrowed, either deep in thought or in annoyance.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he finally says. He grabs me by the collar and shoves me against the nearest wall. I think he’s going to punch me.

He doesn’t.

He kisses me.

SIMON

I think Baz figured it out. He was being an arse about it, as usual.

But I wasn’t sure. I had to test it out. And when he said, snog a stranger, the opportunity practically presented itself on a silver platter. At least then we could both pretend it wasn’t him I was talking about.

So I kissed him.

Is it a good kiss?

I think so. I think Baz was too surprised to react at first – but now his hands come up to my waist and he pulls me closer to him. I let him.

BAZ

Snow is surprisingly good at this.

I’m just surprised.

And I’m trying to think of a reason why he’s doing this, but his mouth keeps distracting me.

Fucking hell, why is he so good at this?

Why is he  _ doing _ this? Why is he kissing me when he has feelings for someone else?

He runs his tongue against my bottom lip and I shiver. I feel his hands come up in my hair.

I told him to deal with his rejection. I told him to snog a stranger.

My eyes snap open when the realisation hits me.

I’m the stranger.

SIMON

I’ve never kissed a bloke before. Baz’s lips are softer than I imagined. I run my tongue along them. I push my hand in his hair, letting it slip between my fingers.

His hair is also softer than I imagined, if that’s even possible. I pry his mouth open with mine, deepening the kiss.

And then suddenly, he’s pushing me away. I startle at the sudden change of pace.

“For fuck’s sake Snow, when I said snog a stranger, I didn’t mean me,” he snaps.

I suddenly want to kick myself. I’m such a fucking idiot. Of course, he doesn’t want this. He made that pretty clear before. Unless… unless he didn’t know I was talking about him. It seems uncharacteristic of Baz to not figure it out, but it’s a possibility.

He thinks I have feelings for someone else. He thinks I kissed him just to forget about it. That’s actually even worse.

No. What’s even worse is that this definitely proves Baz doesn’t feel the same about me.

“Right,” I fumble. “Right. I’m sorry.”

And then I turn around on my heel and run back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baz is probably the type of gay who doesn't know how to do math, because he sure as fuck can't put two and two together here  
> (yes, I know canonically he goes to LSE which means he's probably good at math but shhhh) 
> 
> Anyway part 3? Up soon  
> I still haven't decided if I want to add a fourth chapter oops


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghostbusters, epiphanies and Simon sucks at ignoring text messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same notes apply as for the first chapter! Why do I always have a headache when I update this fic?

BAZ

Curse me, why did I say anything? Simon Snow was  _ kissing me _ and I had to go and bloody ruin it. Why? Because I know he has feelings for someone else?

I always knew Simon would never want me. For fuck’s sake, I thought he was straight up until just a few minutes ago. He would never want me.

And yet here he was, shoving his tongue in my mouth and of course, I had to fucking ruin it. I couldn’t just enjoy it. Even if I was just a stranger to him, he was still  _ kissing _ me. Whatever happened to letting myself indulge tonight?

Christ, I’m a bloody fucking moron. I’m even worse than Snow.

Snow has run off. I don’t try to follow him. Instead, I just sigh, straighten up my shirt and run my fingers through my hair (it doesn’t feel nearly as nice as when he did it) and head back home.

The next morning, I can’t shake the thought of our kiss out of my head. My stomach swells with butterflies every five seconds. It’s terrible. 

I also can’t figure out why he did it. I mean, he’s an idiot. That’s why he kissed me.

But  _ why _ would he tell me all those things about this boy only to snog me senseless a few minutes later?

Because I told him to snog a stranger. I’m a stranger – a night of conversation doesn’t change that.

I should be angry at him for kissing me, but I’m not. I want him to do it again. And again. I wish I’d never said anything. Fucking hell, I’m such an idiot. So is he.

Actually, I am a bit mad at him. This is no healthy way to deal with rejection! (Even if, technically, I suggested it.)

A healthy way of dealing with rejection is this; lying in bed, sulking and replaying our conversation in my head over and over again. This is exactly what I’m doing. I’m an expert in dealing with things in a healthy manner.

I can’t help but be curious about the crush’s identity, though. If Snow fell for a bloke, I hope he at least fell for a  _ decent _ bloke. I try to piece together what I do know.

He’s an arse. He’s posh. He’s clever and reads a lot. Snow thinks he’s going to ace his exams, which means he probably did at least some basic studying. It’s not unlikely that I’ve seen him at the library before, then. He’s sarcastic. He and Snow don’t talk a lot – I can exclude that American student then – but Snow knows he’s well spoken. He mentioned the boy talking to his professors, so I know the boy is in one of his classes. Could it be the same classes I share with Snow? (Snow is with me in English literature and in Political Science. I haven’t seen him anywhere else, but I know he’s taking classes from other courses as well. As far as I know, the boy doesn’t have any idea what he wants to major in.)

I realize I don’t have much to go on. My best bet would be to try and figure out if it’s anyone from our classes – and then I’ll move on to other classes. I know he’s in Statistics with Niall (why Snow would take Statistics is beyond me), so I’ll interrogate him next.

Let’s see. Who in our class is posh, clever, well-spoken and reads a lot?

I realize I wouldn’t know. I thought I knew my classmates, but now I see I’ve only been paying attention to Snow in the classes we share. Well, either that or I’ve been pretending to ignore him by reading.

Wait. He reads a lot. He and Snow don’t talk much. He’s posh. He’s clever. He’s sarcastic. 

Fucking hell.

I think  _ I’m _ the mystery boy.

SIMON

So Baz definitely doesn’t have feelings for me.

I want to hide in my bed and never leave. Actually, I tried that, but Penny and Shepard noticed something was wrong and are now on a mission to cheer me up.

Bless them, they’re really trying. They ordered pizza and we’re watching  _ Ghostbusters _ . (This is literally the only movie Shepard has on his laptop that isn’t some sort of a paranormal documentary.) (We’re probably going to put on a Bigfoot documentary after this is done. Or a Mothman one.) (Does Shepard have anything about goblins? I think that would be cool… but goblins probably aren’t considered cryptids.) (Maybe I should ask him about that.)

The movie is already nearing its end, when my phone buzzes somewhere in between the sofa cushions. I scramble to dig it out and then nearly drop it when I see the screen.

It’s a text from Baz.

**BP: Snow, this mystery boy of yours, is he also an idiot?**

I sigh and ignore his text. I can deal with Baz later. Or never. Preferably never.

Except a few minutes later, my phone buzzes again.

**BP: Are you going to leave me on ‘read’? I’m trying to help you!**

**BP: I think you should talk to him**

**BP: Seriously, you kissed me last night, the least you could do is answer my text**

I drop my phone back on my stomach. That’s where he’s wrong. I could ignore him. I’m going to ignore him. This conversation is  _ over _ . Baz probably thinks he figured out who I have a crush on and is trying to set me up with him. I don’t know why he’d do that but it doesn’t matter – he doesn’t have feelings for me, so I’m just going to ignore him.

My phone buzzes again.

“Who’s texting you?” Penny asks. I shrug, picking it up to see what he’s written now.

**BP: Snow, have you ever actually told this bloke that you like him? To his face, I mean?**

I said I wasn’t going to text back, but with the way Penny is looking at me, she’s going to snatch my phone any second now.

**SS: Forget it Baz. He doesn’t feel the same way**

BAZ

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Even the detail he gave about he and his crush constantly running into each other – that happens to us more than it should! (Although I refuse to own up to it – it’s entirely Snow’s fault. I watch where I’m going, unlike  _ some  _ people.)

There is one detail that doesn’t add up to this whole thing. Snow said he told the mystery boy how he feels and the boy rejected him.

He certainly never told  _ me _ how he feels. And I’d never reject him!

Except… maybe he  _ was _ telling me and I didn’t figure it out. And my jealousy could be interpreted as rejection. And me pushing him away after he kissed me could  _ definitely _ be interpreted as rejection.

But that’s hardly fair! How was I supposed to  _ know _ he was talking about me? He can’t just throw around a bunch of vague statements and character traits and expect me to figure it out! Yes, I’m clever, but even I’m not Sherlock bloody Holmes. For fuck’s sake!

My phone screen lights up with a text notification and I nearly jump.

**SS: Forget it Baz. He doesn’t feel the same way**

I sigh. There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? I pick up my phone and text him back.

**BP: I think that’s where you’re wrong**

Then I drop my phone back on my bed and jump to my wardrobe. I need to get dressed. I need to talk to Snow.

SIMON

**BP: I think that’s where you’re wrong**

I roll my eyes. I’m  _ not _ wrong. So Baz has apparently found a bloke on campus that matches my description of him and now he thinks he can set me up.

That’s bullshit. I don’t  _ want _ anyone else. Can’t he just let it go?

I’m too riled up to ignore it, so I pick up my phone and start texting him back.

**SS: I’m not wrong**

**SS: I tried to make a move and he all but told me to fuck off**

**SS: Seriously, Baz, just let it go**

**SS: Forget about everything that happened last night**

**SS: You can go back to ignoring me like you did before**

**SS: I don’t need you to play matchmaker for me**

A few minutes later a ‘read’ badge appears under my text. Baz doesn’t answer – that stings a bit, but at least my point finally got across. I drop my phone back between the cushions and turn my attention back to  _ Ghostbusters _ . Penny is still sending me weird looks but I ignore them. I will eventually tell her about everything that happened last night, but I’m not ready yet. For now, I’ll just watch  _ Ghostbusters _ .

The movie ends and Shepard puts on a documentary about the Loch Ness monster. Penny rolls her eyes and tries to bicker with him about how this is all an old wives’ tale, but we end up watching it anyway.

Or at least we start watching it, because not even ten minutes into the documentary, the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it,” Penny mutters, getting up. Shepard and I send each other a puzzled look. We’re not expecting anyone. Maybe Penny ordered something online.

She returns a few moments later with a smug expression on her face. Yep, she definitely ordered something online. Possibly another one of those scented candles that always make me sneeze.

“Simon, someone is here to see you,” she says. I sit up hastily.

“What?”

I see a shadow of a person behind her then. A person who is much taller than her – a person who has long black hair and a shirt with a whole field of flowers on it.

Baz.

BAZ

I didn’t want to do this over text messages. I know where Snow lives because we had to do a project together earlier this semester and we did some work over at his place. That’s also why I have his phone number, thank fuck for that. I don’t know how I’d deal with this whole realisation if I didn’t have his phone number.

Snow is sitting on the sofa with the American student on the far other end. There’s an empty space between them and I’m assuming this belongs to the girl who came to open the door.

His hair is tousled and he’s wearing trackies and yet another one of his stupidly large shirts. He looks shocked to see me here – I don’t blame him. I did kind of show up unexpectedly.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask, trying my best to not sound rude or menacing. He’s just staring at me. In the end, it’s the girl who speaks.

“Shepard?” she says, nodding her head to the side.

“Oh,” the American student opens his eyes in realisation, then quickly gets off the sofa and follows her out of the living room. I’m thankful to them for the privacy. I have no idea how to approach this and the fewer people that hear it, the better.

“Why are you here?” Snow asks. He’s making a point of not looking at me. I sigh. Of course, he’s going to be difficult about it. I wouldn’t expect him to be any other way.

“I wanted to talk to you and you weren’t exactly responsive over text.” I walk over to the sofa and sit down next to him – but not too close.

“I told you everything you need to know,” he huffs, crossing his arms.

“No, you didn’t. For example, you never told me if you actually told him to his face that you like him.”

“I told you; I made a move. He rejected me. Why are we talking about this? Can’t you let it go?” He’s getting more worked up by the second. I need to get to my point quickly, before he tells me to fuck off.

“You also never told me if he’s an idiot or not,” I say, referring to the first text I sent him.

“I told you yesterday; he’s very clever.”

“Well, the bloke  _ I  _ fancy is a total fucking idiot,” I say. I guess we’re doing this. Snow looks at me, his expression a mix of pain, annoyance and curiosity. “Seriously, he’s an actual moron. Thick as a brick, that one.”

“Baz, we don’t have to do this,” he starts.

“No. We do. Let me finish. He’s a bloody idiot, but he’s also clever. He’s in some of my classes and he doesn’t speak a lot, but sometimes, he makes some really good points. And he’s brave and honest and bloody fucking fit.”

“Baz, I don’t want to hear about him.”

“No, you do. Seriously. I love to complain about him – he’s a nightmare. He has the organisational skills of a squirrel. He’s always forgetting the deadlines and exam dates and one time, after I was sick, he lent me his notes for the class and his handwriting actually made me want to punch him. I’m fairly sure I could work in decipherment of ancient handwritings after reading through his notes. He’s also a menace when it comes to walking. You think your bloke is bad but you haven’t met mine. He’s the worst. I’m beginning to doubt he even has functional peripheral vision.”

“You don’t seem to like this bloke at all,” Simon huffs. I chuckle.

“Oh no. I like him very much. I even like it when he bumps into me full force – his face gets all red and he starts fumbling and it’s adorable.” I take a deep breath. Here we go.

SIMON

Baz is telling me about the guy he fancies as if I want to hear about it. I keep trying to tell him to shut up but he doesn’t listen.

“Oh no. I like him very much. I even like when he bumps into me full force – his face gets all red and he starts fumbling and it’s adorable,” he says. I consider kissing him again just to shut him up. What part of ‘I don’t want to hear it’ isn’t clear to him?

He must’ve figured out I was talking about him last night and he’s only doing this to torment me. Like I haven’t done that to myself enough.

“Did I tell you that the first time I talked to him was because he spilled coffee all over me? I wasn’t exactly nice to him – but he kept giving me chances. He kept trying to be nice to me. He has a big heart. I like that very much about him.”

I give him a puzzled look. “Just exactly how many guys have spilled coffee on you?” I ask. Baz’s face drops.

“Like I said, the boy is a fucking idiot. He wouldn’t get a hint if it walked up to him and introduced itself.  _ And _ the coffee incident ruined a shirt that I loved.”

_ Oh _ .

Oh, oh, oh.

He’s talking about me.

Baz Pitch is talking about me. I’m the boy he has feelings for.

I turn to him, trying to find the right words to say, but my thoughts feel all jumbled up and messy.

“Simon, do you get it now?” he asks softly. He must’ve read my expression. He called me Simon.

“Me?” I ask, just to be sure. He nods, just slightly. He seems nervous – like he’s not sure what my answer is going to be.

I don’t want him to be nervous. I don’t want him to have any doubts about what my feelings are for him. My hand reaches up to cup his chin. I’ve never been good with words.

“Can I?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“You know you can.”

And I kiss him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Probably no chapter 4, I'm sorry :(   
> Anyway, thank you if you took the time to read this fic, I had a lot of fun writing it

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a oneshot, but I divided it into three chapters so it's easier to read (I might also fuck around and write an epilogue, we'll see)  
> Chapter 2 is hopefully going to be up tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, in the meantime, may I interest you in checking out [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vampire-named-gampire)
> 
> also excuse the weird af title, I suck at titles so this is what you get


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